


i’m no good next to diamonds (when i’m too close they start to fade)

by texaswatermelon



Series: and you go (and you go evermore) [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Happy Ending, Little bit of angst, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), bethany is tired of everyone's self-righteous bullshit, josephine gives the opposite of a shovel talk, leliana is tres dramatique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 18:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texaswatermelon/pseuds/texaswatermelon
Summary: Leliana doesn’t often make appearances outside of her usual post in the rookery, but when she does show up, Bethany pays attention. Her eyes are drawn to Leliana as raptly as they ever were back in Lothering.





	i’m no good next to diamonds (when i’m too close they start to fade)

**Author's Note:**

> title from "diamonds" by the boxer rebellion

The Chantry at Skyhold is an unassuming affair—surprising for an organization the gains the breadth of its support due to having its leader dubbed “The Herald of Andraste”. Bethany would have expected the entire main hall to be draped in sun bursts, but she supposes that the Inquisitor being a Dalish elf has put a damper on some of the triumphant Chantry trumpeting.

Still, it’s a nice space: serene and calming and not nearly as intimidating as the monolith that used to exist in Kirkwall. Bethany is a believer; despite whatever challenges she has faced due to the institution of the Chantry, she still finds comfort in the Maker and Andraste. These days especially, when the sky has been rended and turned sickly green, she needs a place to go to feel an ounce of peace.

She’s been avoiding sleep some nights—the Fade is not a fun place to be for any mage right now. Every spirit and demon is agitated and active due to the rifts, and even sleep has become an exhausting endeavor. Vivienne has been kind enough to concoct a potion to help, but it makes her feel awful, so she puts it off as long as possible. The Chantry becomes a place of solace for that, too.

It’s late, and by now the place is usually devoid of life, but tonight when she enters the small space, Bethany finds that she’s not alone. A figure kneels in front of the statue of Andraste, face all but pressed to the floor in reverent meditation. The purple cowl is immediately recognizable. Leliana doesn’t often make appearances outside of her usual post in the rookery, and Bethany has only had one or two occasions to even speak to her since arriving at Skyhold, but when she does show up, Bethany pays attention. Her eyes are drawn to Leliana as raptly as they ever were back in Lothering.

Bethany is not here to interrupt, so she takes a knee in the back of the room and sits quietly, lets her thoughts wander. Leliana provides a nice distraction. Normally, Bethany might allow herself to be lost in regrets over the people she’s lost. Tonight, she enjoys fond memories of listening to Leliana tell tale after tale to wide-eyed children in the Chantry. Bethany wasn’t a child then, or at the very least she was old enough to feel her cheeks heat up whenever Leliana would look her way, eyes sparkling with mirth, almost like they were sharing a secret between the two of them.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been kneeling (long enough for her knees to feel a bit stiff), but when Leliana finally stands, Bethany realizes that she’s been waiting for this the whole time. Leliana doesn’t look the least bit surprised to discover that she’s not alone. Not that Bethany has ever been light on her feet, but she suspects that Leliana has had a lot of practice listening for would-be assailants. Leliana offers a small smile and approaches, which Bethany takes as her cue to stand.

“Bethany,” Leliana says warmly, and Bethany tries not to notice just how worn she looks, how weary and burdened. “It’s good to see you again. I’m afraid we haven’t had many opportunities to talk since you arrived here.”

“I imagine that running one of the largest spy networks in Thedas must be time consuming,” Bethany replies with a shrug.

“That is no excuse not to catch up with an old friend,” Leliana replies. Her face turns contemplative and sad. “I was sorry to hear about your family. You’ve been through a lot since we last parted ways.”

Not for the first time, she thinks of Carver. What would he be like if he were here now? Would ten years have made him any gentler, or would he still be charging his way into every battle like an angry Hinterlands bear? Bethany can imagine him signing up to be on the front lines of the Inquisition’s army, screaming to the skies about ripping Corypheus’ head from his shoulders. But this isn’t the time for wishful thinking, and Bethany isn’t the only one who’s lost someone over the years. She’s heard from Varric about how close Leliana was to the Divine and how hard that death hit her. She can guess at the nature of the prayers whispered from Leliana’s lips in the silence of the Chantry on nights like this.

“We all have,” is Bethany’s response. “I’m sorry about the Divine, too.”

Leliana’s jaw clenches for a moment. Still a raw nerve, then. Bethany understands. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, and this one is still fresh. Or maybe she simply didn’t expect Bethany to know anything about her. Maybe she’s not used to being seen so easily.

Leliana changes the subject. “I am glad you are here, Bethany. I have fond memories of you from Lothering.”

“I feel far from the girl I was back then,” Bethany says, and Leliana chuckles.

“And I am no lay sister any longer,” she adds.

“Do you still tell a good story though?” Bethany asks with a grin.

“I haven’t had much time for stories,” Leliana says with a smirk of shadow and regret. “Perhaps when this is all over I will try again. But for now, I must go. We will speak later, yes?”

“I’d like that,” Bethany agrees.

When Leliana goes, she leaves the lingering smell of laurel behind. Bethany plucks a piece from the garden and takes it back to her quarters with her.

xx

When she’s not out fighting demons and Templars, Bethany finds herself spending time in the Inquisition library, mostly because Dorian hangs out there and she thinks he’s delightful. He glides through the stacks, dropping piles of books on a table and leafing through them until he finds something of note. Usually, he’s reading up on Tevinter history and politics. Sometimes Bethany will read quietly with him. She liked reading about magic when she was in the Circle, and the books here are far less censored than what was available there. Mostly, though, they chat when she comes to visit him. Dorian likes to gossip, and Bethany loves to hear about Tevinter.

“You must visit Minrathous one day,” he tells her. “I promise you would look stunning in the latest fashion. It can get cold, so we often wear fur-lined robes. Neutral colors, of course, with a splash of brightness for flair. And people wear their hair down in Tevinter—none of the silly updos you Southerners are so fond of.”

As he says it, he stands behind her and pulls her hair loose of its tie. She’s let it grow out since she left Kirkwall; it’s half down her back now, and far easier to pull up or braid back than it is to let it hang in her face most days. She laughs as he musses her hair.

“Now you look ready to put any dodgy old magister in his place.”

Any reply she might have made is quickly drowned out by the sound of bellowing from below. Iron Bull stands at the bottom of the tower and yells up to Dorian, deep voice rumbling so loud that it disturbs the birds in the rookery. Bethany can hear Solas snapping at him to shut up, but Dorian simply chuckles.

“Looks like duty calls. See you when I get back, love.”

“Maker watch over you,” Bethany calls after him.

He winks back at her as she goes, and then Bethany’s attention is drawn to the ravens above her, still ruffling their feathers and settling down after Bull’s disturbance. She sees the purple cowl passing by the balcony and bites her lip for a moment before making a decision. Leliana can be reclusive, but not unapproachable. Besides, Bethany’s never been to the rookery before. Maybe she’ll find that she really likes messenger birds.

It’s an odd place to spend so much time—far too high up and a bit musty with the smell of birds. A handful of agents mill about, writing missives and tending the ravens. Bethany wonders how many live up here. It seems like at least one is coming or going every couple of minutes. She supposes the vantage point from up here is desirable for a spymaster. Or maybe it just makes Leliana feel at ease. At the sound of Bethany’s footfalls on the old wooden floor, she looks up from the note she’s reading and quirks a smile.

“I didn’t expect to see you up here. Are you looking to join my spies?” she asks playfully, moving to perch just on the edge of her table.

“I don’t think I’d make a very good spy,” Bethany laughs. “I’m far too clumsy.”

Leliana hums her disapproval at that. “I see you working your magic in the courtyard sometimes. You look very graceful to me.”

“You haven’t seen me on a flight of stairs though,” Bethany quips, feeling her cheeks flush at the compliment.

Leliana laughs, a quiet sound that bubbles up like a secret and makes Bethany’s chest warm with accomplishment.

“It’s just as well,” Leliana says. “If all the Inquisition had were spies, we’d be so leaden with secrets, we’d never get anything done. Nor would we ever be able to trust each other.”

A raven flies through the open window and lands flawlessly on the arm perch of a waiting agent. The agent takes a small note from the bird’s outstretched leg and reads it with a frown, transferring the bird to a nearby cage to be fed and rested. He then jogs over to where Bethany and Leliana stand.

“Apologies for the interruption, Lady Hawke,” he says with a small nod in her direction. Bethany grimaces at the title. “Sister Nightingale, you’ll want to see this at once.”

Leliana takes the note from his fingertips and scans over it, brow furrowing as she does. It can’t be longer than one or two lines on a parchment that small, but Bethany watches her eyes dart back and forth multiple times, perhaps looking to discern some hidden meaning in the text.

“I’m sorry, Bethany,” she says after a moment. “I’m afraid I need to attend to this.”

Bethany ignores the disappointment settling in her chest at their conversation being cut so short. “Is everything okay?”

“Is it ever?” Leliana mutters, but she’s not really paying attention, already putting quill to paper.

It’s just as well. There are probably a thousand things Bethany could be doing right now besides distracting the Inquisition spymaster. There’s no shortage of work to be done, and she wonders if maybe Cullen has something for her. She’s been growing restless here, and there’s nothing like obliterating droves of blood mages and red Templars to clear the mind.

Just as she’s turning to leave, Leliana’s voice calls her back. She finds Leliana looking up at her from under her hood, eyes dark and trained on her face with an intense focus.

“Dorian’s wrong, you know. Orlesian fashion would suit you best. A silken blue dress to complement your porcelain skin, with elegant shoes to match. And a simple mask to bring out your eyes.”

It’s so unexpected that Bethany finds herself frozen, caught in Leliana’s gaze, reluctant to even breathe for fear of breaking whatever spell this is.

“He’s right about your hair, though,” Leliana concludes. “Those curls are a gift from the Maker himself.”

The smirk on her lips makes Bethany’s heart race uncomfortably. She doesn’t know what to say—knows that anything she tries to say will come out as a stuttering mess anyway—so she takes her leave and focuses very hard on not tripping all the way down the stairs.

xx

Cullen has a handful of soldiers heading out to the northern part of the Hinterlands to take care of some raiders that have been taking advantage of the chaos caused by the Breach. Bethany tags along and thinks that she might enjoy the nostalgia of fighting something that isn’t possessed by a demon or under the influence of red lyrium. She remembers long nights in the city with Hawke, cleaning up some of the worst trash in Kirkwall and enjoying it far more than the time they spent smuggling.

Varric comes too, more out of boredom than anything else, but Bethany is glad for the company. She gets along well enough with a good many people at Skyhold, but Varric has always been like a second brother to her and she likes the way he tells stories about Kirkwall while they travel. Most of them are from her time in the Circle, and though she only believes half of what he says, the evident exaggeration in his tales makes her laugh.

When they finally reach the area where the raiders have been reported, the soldiers check in with the locals to get further information. As it turns out, the raiders have been using Lothering as their base of operations. Lothering, she remembers hearing from her mother long ago, has been abandoned since the Blight, poisoned by the darkspawn and unsalvageable for good. So, it’s probably the perfect place for a band of miscreants to hang their hats, at least for a little while.

The captain of their squad decides to leave some of the soldiers in the Hinterlands with the farmers in case any raiders come calling again. The rest of them will travel to Lothering to look for their base of operations. Bethany knows that she should volunteer to stay behind; there’s likely little to be gained from a place that holds so many memories for her. Instead, she tells the captain that she knew the area well before the Blight, and that’s all it takes to get her a spot secured on the away team.

“Are you sure about this, Sunshine?” Varric murmurs as they begin marching again. “I can’t imagine this is going to be a happy homecoming for you.”

“No,” Bethany sighs, “but I suppose I’ve made my bed now.”

That turns out to be the understatement of the age. No amount of time or distance can prepare Bethany for what she finds. Lothering is at once unrecognizable—overgrown and wild on the old path into town—and far too familiar in places where the buildings haven’t been completely destroyed by fire and warfare. 

It’s easy to see how the Blight has changed this place. Her neighbors’ fields are mostly gray and barren. Whatever does grow is twisted, ugly, and most certainly inedible. There’s mostly rubble and ash where many houses and shops once stood. Bethany looks to where she knows her childhood home should be on the far edge of town, but there’s nothing there. It just as easily could have never existed at all. 

To the northeast is the path that they took to escape Lothering. The path where they met Wesley and Aveline, and where Carver stood in front of an ogre to protect their mother and was cut down so viciously. And really, out of everything, that’s what gets her. She can see it in her mind as if it happened yesterday and thinks of what she’ll do if they end up having to walk that path. Will his remains still be there? Will she find some trace of him yet? The thought makes her nauseous and she sways on her feet.

“Easy,” Varric says, placing a steadying hand on her lower back. “You alright?”

Bethany takes a deep breath and realizes with a sharp pang that nothing about this place smells like home.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The Chantry somehow endured the least destruction out of all the other structures in town. Bethany imagines that Sebastian would have something insufferably poetic to say about that if her were here, and then he would be outraged to discover that it’s also exactly where their bandits are hiding. They storm the place and demand a surrender, but the raiders don’t oblige. In the end, none of them survive, and Bethany is at least partially satisfied by the outcome. 

She tries not to feel like she’s desecrating the place by using magic inside of it, but it was desecrated long before her by people who stripped it of anything with potential value. The captain has them fan out and search the place for anything of use, but there really is nothing left besides a few bits of broken furniture and some dirty banners. Bethany does a quick check of the sleeping quarters where the sisters would stay. It looks bare, save a few bed frames that weren’t broken down for kindling, but she sends out a small telekinetic blast (a useful trick she picked up during her days scrounging for coin with Hawke) just to see if anything shakes loose. 

Across the room, a stone in the wall near one of the bunks rattles—a clever hiding spot for a Chantry sister valuing a bit of privacy in a place that likely didn’t afford any. Bethany carefully removes the stone to find a small alcove; the only thing inside is a copy of the Chant. She can’t imagine why this has been hidden away, but she opens the front cover to find something that makes her heart ache. _Sister Leliana_ is written inside the book in a messy scrawl, along with a single white rose preserved by so many years spent pressed between the pages.

This is nothing that the Inquisition needs, but it is precious just the same. Bethany imagines Leliana flipping through these pages until every word was memorized, finding comfort in the words of the Chant in a way that most rarely do. It’s the last lingering piece of a past that no longer exists. Bethany places it carefully in her pack. She’ll take it back to Skyhold and leave the rest of Lothering to the wilds.

xx

They encounter red Templars on the way back and Bethany takes an injury to her arm. It’s not deadly, but it hurts and it bleeds a lot. She’s always been a shit healer, so Varric slaps a poultice on it and that has to suffice until they make it to the keep. That makes the infirmary Bethany’s first stop at Skyhold.

The healer tends to her wound and tells her that she’ll likely scar a little, but she’ll survive besides. She’s ordered to take a tonic to fight any potential infection and rest in one of the cots for a few hours. Bethany despises this sort of downtime, but she’s saved when one of the attendants tells her she has a visitor. She assumes that it’s Varric, and tells them to let him back, but finds herself surprised when Leliana steps through the curtain instead. She wonders if there will ever be a time when she isn’t struck dumb just by the sight of her.

“Varric said you were injured,” Leliana says by way of greeting. “I wanted to check on you.”

“Did he tell you I’d lost half of my arm to gangrene on the way back to Skyhold?” Bethany asks wearily, already imagining the stories Varric must be telling about their trip.

“Actually, the way he told it, I was afraid I might find you dead by the time I got here,” Leliana teases, laughing as Bethany groans at that. She takes a seat beside the cot and brushes a strand of hair back from Bethany’s face, casually, as if it doesn’t mean anything (as if it doesn’t make Bethany’s heart stutter in her chest). “He also said that your mission took you into Lothering.”

“What’s left of it, anyway,” Bethany says quietly, and Leliana’s mouth forms a thin line.

“That must have been difficult for you.”

Bethany thinks to shrug it off, to act as if the experience didn’t leave her shaken, but there’s little point. Leliana will know if she’s lying anyway, and she’s really the only one here who will understand.

“More than I’d like,” she acquiesces. “I suppose I thought it had been long enough that it wouldn’t matter. But I didn’t know what it would be like. It looks as if the darkspawn had just passed through yesterday. And I just kept remembering that day we lost Carver; how bloody and broken his body was after that creature had thrown him aside…”

She stops to choke back tears. She and Carver bickered on the best of days, but he was good when it counted. He had his way of showing that he cared—gifts left on a bed after Bethany had mentioned admiring something, a boy with a black eye the day after he’d teased her until she cried, a strong arm around her shoulders on the days when her magic made her feel so isolated from the rest of the world. While she and Hawke were always best friends, Carver was the other half of Bethany’s soul. Most days, she still wakes expecting him to be alive, thinking that she might run to tell him about her day, or write to beg him to be careful, wherever he is. Losing him still eats at her in a way that she can’t describe.

“He was a good man,” Leliana says softly.

Bethany’s responding laugh is watery. “He was a tit most of the time. But I miss him.” She suddenly remembers the book she brought back with her and reaches for her pack. “Speaking of Lothering, I found something in the Chantry. I thought you might want it back.”

Leliana takes the book from her, eyes widening in surprise as recognition dawns on her. She flips it open and runs her fingers gently over the rose with a shaky breath.

“I never thought I would see this again,” she says, looking up at Bethany with an expression that’s nearly impossible to read. “I must have read this book thousands of times. It brought me reassurance when I doubted everything else in my life.”

“Why did you have it hidden away?” Bethany asks.

Leliana smirks like she’s telling a joke at her own expense. “I have never accepted my faith blindly. I love the Maker, but I believe it is our duty to question beliefs and adjust tradition, when necessary. Of course, the Revered Mother did not appreciate that outlook from a lay sister. Especially after I began talking about receiving a vision from the Maker. The Chantry teaches that he spoke only with Andraste, you see.”

She flips the pages of the book open to reveal hundreds of notes written in the margins, all in Leliana’s slanted scrawl. Bethany has to resist the immediate urge to be appalled by this; it’s just a book, after all. Once she gets that out of the way, she’s overcome with curiosity. Much of Leliana’s personality is rooted in her faith. Bethany wants to read every thought scribbled on those pages, like a cypher that might unlock the mysteries of Leliana’s mind.

“If the Revered Mother has ever seen this, I would have been in a lot of trouble. Unfortunately, when I left with the Hero of Ferelden, I never had the chance to go back and get this,” Leliana continues. She glances at Bethany with a conflicted expression, the corner of her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

_Just tell me what you’re thinking_, Bethany pleads silently, and feels her hand tighten around the thin sheet at her waist with anticipation.

“This is a precious gift,” Leliana says. “Thank you, Bethany.” 

Whether it’s what she intended to say all along, Bethany will never know. Still, she’s glad to have brought some measure of joy to Leliana’s day, even if it leaves Bethany with more longing than she knows what to do with.

xx

Bethany finds herself drawn to the rookery more frequently. It’s not as if this is her first attraction to a formidable woman—Isabela is a force of nature who always knew exactly what to say to make Bethany’s face flush with heat. But Leliana is not a pirate who prides herself in making teenaged virgins blush. They have history together, however brief it may be. Bethany remembers how enamored she was with Leliana back then. She feels it shift and change the more time she spends with Leliana now. 

Leliana is a hard person to get to know—one instant she’s playful and open; the next she retreats into turbulent contemplation. She’s a woman who wants to see wonder in the world, but often only finds sadness. Bethany just wishes that she could help her reconcile them both. The world is often wonderful because it’s complex, and Bethany has learned that life is about trying to make the best choices with the hands you’re dealt.

“Did you know I was a mage when we were in Lothering?” she asks.

In the fading light of the evening, Bethany tends to the birds that have come home to roost for the night. She likes the way that they nip gently at her fingers when she feeds them, a silent acknowledgement of their appreciation. _They_ don’t care that she’s a mage.

Leliana looks up from her notes and tilts her head. “No, I never suspected. Of course, we really only saw one another when you were at the Chantry. I suppose you would have been extra careful there.”

Leliana was one of the few people who ever made Bethany feel at ease back when she was still in hiding, but in truth, she had no way of knowing that Leliana would be sympathetic to her plight. There’s little use in what-ifs and might-have-beens, but Bethany supposes there’s also no harm in curiosity.

“I tried to be careful everywhere,” Bethany says. “I never really felt safe though. To me, it seemed like every person who looked at me must have seen right through me.”

“That must have been very difficult for you,” Leliana says sympathetically. “I can understand a little. When I went to the Chantry, it was after several years of being a bard. After spying and killing for so long, I almost didn’t feel like I deserved the peace I found at the cloister. And I always felt that many of the others believed that as well, even though most of them knew nothing of my past.”

Bethany moves closer, leaning against the railing across from where Leliana sits at the table. This is a rare moment of insight and she wants to absorb it while she has the chance. 

“It’s kind of funny looking back at it now,” Leliana says with a humorless laugh. “I truly believed that I could cast aside my old ways and devote myself fully to the Maker. Instead, I used all of my old training to help the Divine, and I failed her anyway.”

“You struggle to believe that you’re a good person,” Bethany says sadly. “But I know that you are.”

“Who I am was decided long ago,” Leliana says coldly. “I am the person responsible for keeping this Inquisition safe, but I could not keep the Divine safe. I have blackened my soul, but it was for nothing in the end.”

Bethany sighs at the abrupt change in mood, the fury and self-loathing flashing in Leliana’s eyes, and shakes her head. 

“Would you have turned me in?”

Leliana’s eyes narrow in confusion at the abrupt change of subject. “What?” she snaps.

“If you knew I was a mage back then, would you have turned me into the Templars?” Bethany clarifies.

Leliana stares at her for several long seconds, and Bethany isn’t sure if she’s offended by the question or trying to determine the answer.

“No,” she says finally. “You and your family were good people. I would not have seen you taken away from them.”

Bethany smiles softly and reaches out to cover Leliana’s hand with her own. “Nobody chooses who you are except for you. If you were truly lost, this wouldn’t haunt you the way it does. But you get to decide how to move forward.”

“You still see me as the sister you admired ten years ago,” Leliana says quietly. “But I am only this now. A liar and a killer.”

“They don’t have to be mutually exclusive,” Bethany counters. She takes a steadying breath and prays for an ounce of bravery before gently pushing the hood back from Leliana’s head. Leliana is so still, her eyes so vulnerable, that Bethany feels compelled to forge ahead. “You’re not as one-dimensional as you believe. And for the record, I happen to admire all sides of you.”

Leliana’s eyebrows raise, and then her lips turn up in a smirk. She opens her mouth to reply, but something behind Bethany draws her attention. Bethany turns to find Josephine approaching, steps faltering when she sees them together. Bethany quickly takes a step back, cheeks flushing. Technically, nothing happened, but just by the look on Josephine’s face, she can tell that it looks suspicious. Leliana’s expression steels immediately, her face a mask of impassivity. Bethany only wishes she had that talent.

“Lady Hawke,” Josephine greets her cautiously. “I apologize for the interruption. I did not realize that you and Leliana were…”

“Talking,” Leliana supplies helpfully.

“Of course,” Josephine agrees, inclining her head. “I was hoping to speak to you about Compte D’Aurelion’s proposal, but it can wait until tomorrow if you wish to continue your conversation.”

She ends that statement with a pointed look in Leliana’s direction and Bethany wonders if she could learn how to turn invisible the way that Cole does sometimes.

“I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she says quickly, backing away from the duo. Leliana looks like she might protest, but she remains silent. “It was good to see you, Ambassador.”

“Likewise, Lady Hawke,” Josephine says.

Bethany waves to Leliana and makes her exit as hastily as possible. As she descends the stairs, she hears Leliana quietly chastising Josephine for using Bethany’s proper title and exhales heavily. Perhaps she can goad Varric into buying her enough drinks to forget that entire awkward encounter.

xx

A runner finds her several weeks later while she eats breakfast with Sera in the tavern.

“Lady Montiliyet requests your presence at half past noon in her office,” he says with a short bow.

“What? Another interrogation about your time with Coryphishits?” Sera asks, half a piece of toast falling out of her mouth. “Hasn’t Ambassador Frilly Pants heard enough about it already? Or wait, did you nick her knickers and tack ‘em to the flagpole as well? Gets her all twisted, dunnit?”

Bethany blanches at the implication of that, which Sera takes as a sign that Bethany doesn’t actually want to attend this meeting.

“Tell her little Bethy got attacked by a pack of blighted mountain goats and won’t be attending,” she says to the runner.

“Maker, no! Please don’t say that,” Bethany pleads while the messenger stares at her uncomfortably. “I’ll attend as requested.”

The runner nods and bows again before leaving. Sera huffs and shoves a forkful of meat into her mouth.

“Don’t say I didn’t try to help, yeah?” she grouses.

Bethany sighs. She’s learned by now that there’s little point in arguing. “I appreciate the effort, Sera, but I don’t think a pack of blighted mountain goats would have deterred her anyway.”

Sera shrugs and returns to her breakfast, chuckling to herself about “nicking knickers” a few minutes later.

At exactly half-past, Bethany knocks on the door to Josephine’s office, pulling nervously on her tunic as she waits for a reply. When she enters, she finds Josephine sitting at her desk with a stack of papers higher than her head. Josephine glances up at her approach and finishes writing out a line on the parchment in front of her before setting her quill down.

“Good afternoon, Bethany,” she says, and Bethany nearly grins at Leliana’s obvious influence on the way that Josephine addresses her. “I apologize for the disarray. It appears that our upcoming visit to Halamshiral has created quite a lot of intrigue with the Orlesian nobility.”

“They have that much to say about a party?” Bethany asks.

“Orlesians believe that they are entitled to know everything, even when it does not concern them,” Josephine says with a hint of exasperation. “Most of the people writing will not even be in attendance at the ball.”

Bethany does not envy Josephine. For all of the burdens that Leliana and Cullen bear at their posts, Josephine’s is equally exhausting and potentially just as dangerous. She can’t believe how desperately she once wanted that life of nobility. She would have been absolutely terrible at it.

“At any rate, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Josephine continues, gesturing to the arm chairs by the fire. “I realized that it has been some time since we last had the chance to speak and felt that I needed to rectify that.”

It seems odd, but Bethany supposes that maybe her station (such as it is) dictates that the Ambassador set aside some time with her. Perhaps she does this with all of the nobles here, though how she could possibly have the time is beyond Bethany. Josephine pours them tea with a pleasant expression on her face, as if she and Bethany are old friends catching up after months apart. She asks Bethany a slew of questions: how she’s finding Skyhold, if she’s having any trouble, her thoughts on how the Inquisition dealt with the mages at Redcliffe, if she’s heard from her sister lately, if Varric’s account of their trip to Lothering is even half true. Josephine is not bad company—she has a talent for keeping a conversation flowing effortlessly and staying artfully engaged the entire time, hanging on Bethany’s every word as if she’s the most interesting person Josephine has ever talked to.

“Have you spoken to Leliana recently?” she asks, and the sudden change of subject puts Bethany off balance.

“Uh, just in passing,” Bethany says. “We’ve both been pretty occupied lately.”

“She told me that the two of you knew each other many years ago.”

It’s not really a question, and Bethany isn’t quite sure how to respond. It’s becoming clear that she’s been led into a false sense of security. Sera was right: this is an interrogation, though the topic is not Corypheus.

“I get the feeling that you’d like to ask me something,” Bethany replies carefully. 

“Ah,” Josephine says with a half smile that says she’s been caught. “I apologize. I do not want it to seem as if I am trying to intimidate you. I simply noticed that you and Leliana appear to be...close. Leliana is a dear friend to me. More than anything, I wish to see her happy.”

“She has a hard time allowing herself to be,” Bethany frowns.

“You are not wrong,” Josephine agrees. “Leliana holds herself to unreasonable standards. She places the weight of the world on her own shoulders and then struggles not to buckle under it. But I’ve noticed that your influence seems to be making a difference in her. I can’t quite put it into words, but she appears somewhat lighter since your arrival here.”

Bethany’s pulse quickens at that. She hadn’t thought that she was actually helping. But that doesn’t mean that Leliana views her as anything more than a friend. Bethany wants a lot of things, but now isn’t the time to voice them, so she settles on saying:

“I want her to be happy, too.”

Josephine smiles, teeth bright white and gleaming. “Then I think you and I shall get along just fine.”

xx

Cassandra is...an extremely passionate and persistent person. When Bethany first came to Skyhold, she endured hours of questioning from the woman about Hawke and their time in Kirkwall. Mostly it seemed that Cassandra wanted to know where Hawke was. Bethany didn’t know then and still doesn’t now. She has an idea, and she knows how to get a message to her sister if she needs to, but Hawke purposely didn’t tell her where she was going for both of their safety. So when Bethany couldn’t provide that information, Cassandra switched to fact checking every single thing Varric had ever told her. 

Bethany mostly tries to avoid her now, but it can be difficult when she frequently occupies the same space that Bethany uses for training. She could just as easily not train, but it’s practically ingrained in her very being from an entire childhood spent learning to control her magic with her father. She knows it’s not like this for every mage, but her magic always feels like it’s running just under her skin. Sometimes she needs to release it to put herself at ease.

“You are very controlled for an apostate,” Cassandra comments, unsolicited. 

She’s been watching Bethany work for the better part of an hour, which is nerve wracking, to say the least. Especially when it looks like she can’t decide whether she’s impressed by her or disgusted with her.

“I had to be, otherwise I wouldn’t have been an apostate for very long,” Bethany replies, flinging a shard of ice at the practice dummy.

“Didn’t you ever learn how to use a normal weapon?” Cassandra asks, broadsword cutting clean through the air as she attacks her own dummy. When Bethany merely shrugs, she stops working to stare at her incredulously. “How did you make it two years in Kirkwall running around with your sister without getting caught?”

“I suppose the Templars in Kirkwall weren’t very bright,” Bethany says, only half teasing.

In truth, Hawke was always protective of her. She made Bethany stay home more often than not under the guise of keeping their mother company. But Bethany knew the truth. Hawke couldn’t bear to lose another sibling, so she did what she could to make sure that didn’t happen. Hard to get caught by Templars if all you ever do is hang out at home or the Hanged Man.

“Are you still interrogating the poor girl, Cassandra?” a familiar voice says, startling Bethany so much that she nearly misdirects her spell. “You know you can read all about it in Varric’s book.”

Leliana looks radiant today—hood down and red hair glinting spectacularly in the sun. Her blue eyes twinkle with mirth as Cassandra snorts at her suggestion.

“Varric spends most of his time talking out of his ass,” she grunts.

“All part of his charm,” Leliana says easily. “But I’m supposed to tell you that the Inquisitor is looking for you. She wants to talk about the Western Approach.”

Cassandra nods and leaves them at once. When she’s gone, Leliana turns to Bethany with a warm smile.

“She means well, but she does get fixated on a topic easily,” she says.

“That’s one word for it,” Bethany agrees. “One of these days I’m going to lock my sister in a room with her so that she can answer questions about her own life for once.”

“I doubt Cassandra would even know what to do with herself,” Leliana chuckles. “Now, what’s this I hear about you never learning how to train with a weapon?”

“Hawke did try to teach me how to use daggers once, but I was useless at it,” Bethany admits. “And I guess I figured there wasn’t much point.”

Leliana clucks her tongue and walks over to a nearby weapons rack to grab a bow and some arrows.

“You must always have a backup plan, _ma chère_,” she says. “Especially going against so many Templars. What if they strip you of your magic?”

Bethany is unfortunately familiar with that little trick, and she despises it. It sucks the breath from her lungs and makes her blood go still. There’s nothing as terrifying as feeling the instant snap of Templar magic mid-battle that saps her of all energy and makes her feel completely defenseless. The only thing she still has going for her is her staff, which acts as a blunt weapon in times of trouble.

“You think I should learn to use a bow?” Bethany asks. “How will I carry that and my staff?”

Leliana hands her the bow. The weight of it feels foreign in her hands.

“Let’s see how you do first. If you like it, we can cross that bridge later.”

So Leliana goes through the process of teaching her how to hold the bow, how to nock an arrow and draw the string back, how to release without injuring herself, how to aim, and how to breathe. She’s a patient teacher, but Bethany is no prodigy, and she huffs after what feels like the thousandth arrow that misses the target entirely.

“Here,” Leliana says, “let me help.”

And then she’s stepping into Bethany’s space, pressed close to her back. Her arms come up around Bethany’s sides as she helps Bethany adjust her hands, while her mouth rests just behind Bethany’s ear. Bethany doesn’t move—scarcely dares to breathe, even. She can barely hear anything over the sound of her own pulse pounding in her head.

“Take a breath as you draw your bow,” Leliana instructs, voice low and quiet right against Bethany’s ear. It sends a shiver down her spine that she has no chance to suppress. “Now imagine the arc of the arrow as you aim. Exhale and adjust. Release.”

No power in the world could make her resist that command. Her fingers slip away and the arrow flies toward the target. It’s not a perfect shot by any means, but it’s a far sight better than her other attempts. Leliana hums her approval and steps away. Bethany regrets the loss, but it’s probably for the best.

“Keep practicing like that and you’ll be joining the archery ranks in no time.”

If they keep practicing like that, Bethany is going to make a fool of herself. But she suspects that Leliana isn’t completely oblivious to that fact. And judging by the slight darkening of her eyes, Bethany’s beginning to wonder if she isn’t as immune as she seems.

If that’s the case, she’s in for a world of trouble.

xx

“So,” Varric says, plopping down on the stool next to her in the tavern, “a little bird told me you’ve been spending a lot of time in the rookery with Nightingale.”

“Is that bird named Dorian, by chance?” Bethany asks.

“Now, Sunshine, you know I can’t reveal my sources!”

Bethany rolls her eyes. “Leliana and I are friends.”

“Do you usually blush like that when you talk about your friends?” Varric asks rhetorically. Bethany glares. “Last time I remember seeing you like this was when you were hanging around Rivaini too much.”

“Varric…” she warns, and he throws his hands up to placate her. 

“Hey, I’m here to support you, Sunshine.” He suddenly grows serious as he looks at her. “Just be careful, okay? Half the time I don’t know if she’s at war with Corypheus or herself. I don’t want to see you get caught in the crossfire.”

Bethany deflates with a sigh. Varric can be meddlesome at the best of times, but he cares about her as deeply as any sibling. In truth, this is likely no different than what Carver would say to her if he were here (though she suspects that Varric phrased it nicer than Carver ever would).

So she concedes with a nod of her head and flags down the server to buy him a drink.

xx

She’s avoiding sleep again. This hasn’t changed for her over the months, but what has changed is the place she gravitates to as the hour grows late and the rest of Skyhold drifts off to bed. Leliana never seems to sleep. She works late into the night, long after most of her spies have retired for the evening. So sometimes Bethany sits with her, even if it’s mostly in silence.

Tonight, Leliana allows herself to be distracted. She stands close by while Bethany tends to some of the messenger birds and tells stories from her childhood, antics that she and Hawke and Carver played on one another and their parents when they were younger. Bethany doesn’t often allow herself to get lost in these tales. The memories still make her chest ache, but she feels like she owes it to Carver and her parents to talk about it sometimes, to keep breathing their names into the world while she still has breath.

Leliana listens and laughs while Bethany talks about Carver nailing her braid to the bed or Hawke cutting all of the toes from his socks and letting the dog slobber on his pillow.

“Didn’t you ever participate in these games?” she asks.

“Not as often as they did,” Bethany says. “But sometimes I would use my magic to freeze their drinks solid just before they took a sip.”

The only response she receives is a soft exhale, and then silence. Bethany turns to see if she’s somehow said the wrong thing and finds Leliana looking at her with such tenderness and conflict that it makes her breath catch in the back of her throat.

“Are you okay?” Bethany asks carefully. The air between them has grown thick without her realizing it, making her skin tingle with electricity and her hairs stand on end.

Leliana reaches up, fingertips grazing gently across Bethany’s cheekbone before her hand comes to rest fully against Bethany’s face. 

“You have become very dear to me, Bethany,” she says quietly. “You have a gentleness about you that I have always envied. It was something that I tried to emulate long ago, but I fear that I was only ever pretending.”

There’s a sorrow in Leliana’s voice that Bethany can’t reconcile with the heat and weight of her hand lingering on Bethany’s cheek. If this is Leliana’s way of telling Bethany that she has feelings for her, it’s not making sense. _She’s at war with herself_, she remembers Varric saying, and frowns at the idea of a decision being made without her input.

“Gentleness is a choice, like any other,” Bethany says resolutely. “It’s not the only one I know how to make.”

She surges forward, fingers tangling in Leliana’s hair as she kisses her. Leliana takes half a step back in surprise before she finds her footing and presses Bethany against the railing. Her hand cups the back of Bethany’s head while the other digs into her hip. She drags her teeth against Bethany’s bottom lip, eliciting a ragged sound from the back of Bethany’s throat.

Leliana tears her mouth away, forehead resting against Bethany’s as her breath ghosts across Bethany’s lips, hot and labored.

“Bethany…” she murmurs, and Bethany feels her stomach drop at the regret that’s already evident in her voice.

“Don’t,” Bethany pleads hoarsely. “Please don’t pull away now.”

But it’s already done. Leliana steps back from her and Bethany feels cold from the loss of her in more ways than one.

“I’m sorry,” Leliana says, and she truly sounds torn, but Bethany is too hurt and frustrated to care. “You deserve the most wonderful love, but anything I can offer you will be tainted.”

“Why even reach out if this is how it ends?” Bethany questions. She feels tears stinging at the backs of her eyes works so hard not to let them fall.

“It was a moment of weakness,” Leliana says mournfully. She doesn’t say _it won’t happen again_, but it is implied.

The familiar self-loathing so evident in everything that Leliana does is really more than Bethany can bear when she’s feeling this foolish, so she leaves without another word and hurries back to her room where she can collapse in peace.

xx

Bethany retreats for a few days. Skyhold is big enough that she doesn’t have any trouble avoiding Leliana, and she even manages to duck Josephine a few times. She doesn’t say much to Varric, but she doesn’t have to. He takes one look at her and sighs, patting her on the back and bringing a few bottles of ale to the battlements so that she doesn’t have to sit and mope in front of everyone at the tavern.

“Only for you, Sunshine,” he says while they climb the steps. He hates coming up here, but she’s thankful for him.

When Dorian starts talking about a trip to the Storm Coast to clear out some darkspawn, Bethany immediately volunteers to go with. It’s pretty telling that she’d rather spend her time soaked to the skin and surrounded by the smell of taint than risk having to stay here and potentially face Leliana. But she needs a distraction, and this will have to do.

It takes about three weeks between travel and actual darkspawn killing, and Bethany spends most of that time chatting with her companions. The Inquisitor is a calming presence, far different from Merrill’s restless energy. She’s more accepting of humans that most Dalish elves, but she admits that she feels most comfortable out in the wilderness like this, away from the hustle and bustle of Skyhold where people tend to regard her with a mixture of wonder and disgust. 

Bethany doesn’t know if she believes that the Inquisitor truly is the Herald of Andraste, but she doesn’t think that it actually matters, either. What matters is that she has the power to close the rifts, and the people are willing to rally around her as a symbol of hope. She’s good company, too—earnest and easygoing. She tells stories about her people and admits that she always liked the idea of being a storyteller in her clan one day.

“And would the Ambassador be joining you in this scenario?” Dorian asks with a teasing grin, and the Inquisitor blushes a pretty shade of pink.

“Ha!” Bull laughs. “Can you see Josie roughing it in a Dalish camp?”

“She’d do better than you’d expect,” the Inquisitor says with a fond smile. “She’s tougher than most shemlen I’ve met.”

“Not her toughness I’m worried about,” Bull says as he tears at a chunk of dried meat with his teeth. “But I don’t think they deliver those little fancy cakes she likes so much to your aravels do they?”

“I suppose I’ll have to learn the recipe then,” the Inquisitor says.

It’s a joke, but Bethany sees the dimness in her eyes, her smile tinted with sadness. She remembers Feynriel from Kirkwall and how his mother was exiled from her clan due to her relationship with a human. She knows what the Inquisitor won’t say: a relationship with Josephine might mean that she can’t return to her family. Selfishly, Bethany thinks of Leliana, how she punishes herself for things beyond her control, and wonders if any of them will be allowed happiness in the end.

xx

When they finally return to Skyhold, Bethany heads for her room to unpack and rest. She opens the door to her quarters to find Leliana sitting on the edge of her bed and nearly jumps out of her skin at the unexpected intrusion.

“Sorry,” Leliana says sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’ll survive,” Bethany breathes, clutching briefly at her heart. “I think.” Leliana chances a small smile and Bethany remembers suddenly that they’re still on uncertain ground. “Did you need something?”

Leliana stands and then doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself after that. She picks at her nails and then clasps her hands behind her back like she’s about to report in at the war table.

“I heard you’d returned from the Storm Coast and I just...I wanted to see how you are,” she says haltingly. Bethany’s never seen her so unsure of herself.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” Bethany replies waspishly, crossing her arms. She’s irritated that Leliana has shown up like this after pushing Bethany away, asking after her like there’s nothing else to address. “I’m uninjured, if that’s what you mean.”

“I can see that you are unhappy with me,” Leliana sighs. “I owe you an apology for what happened the last time we spoke.”

“An explanation would be better,” Bethany huffs. “Or is it an Orlesian courting ritual to express interest in someone and then reject them when they return your feelings?”

Leliana rubs at her brow with a grimace. “I was being sincere. But my position—my _life_—doesn’t really afford me the opportunity for romance.”

“So because you’re the spymaster, you don’t get to be happy?” Bethany asks with an eyeroll. She pushes past Leliana to toss her pack onto her bed and start unpacking her things.

“Happiness,” Leliana says skeptically, like the concept doesn’t actually exist. “I was happy once, long ago, but it ended up being a lie that nearly destroyed my life. Bethany...you have a light in you that illuminates everyone in your presence. I look at you and I see proof of the Maker’s existence right before my eyes.”

Bethany stalls her furious unpacking, looking up to find Leliana’s gaze upon her, reverent and longing. She curses Leliana for her ability to spill such pretty words as effortlessly as breathing. It only reminds her of what she’s being denied.

“I don’t want to spoil that light. I was trained by the best bard in the Game. She made me what I am today: a person who speaks lies more convincingly than the truth; who wears a mask more easily than her own face. My footsteps are soaked in blood. That is who I am. That is all I can offer you. I can’t be responsible for endangering the goodness in you.”

Bethany exhales heavily. She’s already tired from her trip, and listening to Leliana now is exhausting her further. Leliana truly believes that being a bard is all that she’s capable of, and Bethany’s not sure that she has the energy to convince her otherwise anymore.

“Maker’s breath, Leliana,” she sighs, shaking her head. “You still believe that other people have control over how you live your life? It’s all a choice. Did you know that I turned myself over to the Templars in Kirkwall? I was terrified of what they’d do to me, but I did it anyway because I thought it was right. The Inquisitor is courting your best friend right now, knowing that a relationship with a human could cost her everything she holds dear. But Josephine makes her happy. We make our choices and then we have to take responsibility for them. You know how to do what’s right. And you are capable of loving someone without destroying them. You’re just afraid. You’ve forgotten how to be happy and you’re afraid to try because you don’t think you deserve it.”

Leliana stares at her with a pained expression, body tense like she’s under attack. Bethany grits her teeth and resumes her unpacking.

“And for the record, I’m not some unspoiled backwater maiden who can’t make her own decisions. I’ve been through more hardship in a decade than most people experience in a lifetime. I decided to come here and aid the Inquisition knowing that it would be dangerous. And I chose to kiss you. Because I wanted to. Because I wanted _you_. So if all you ever see in me is a seventeen-year-old apostate who needs sheltering, then we’re already doomed from the start.”

There’s little left to say after that, but Bethany’s not looking for a response anyway. She left the door open when she came in, so Leliana leaves through it without another word, and Bethany doesn’t watch her when she goes.

xx

Hawke comes to Skyhold. Bethany didn’t know she would, but that’s not surprising. Her sister has always lived her life however she sees fit, always running off to the next adventure. Anything to keep busy. She flickers in and out of people’s lives without warning, flashing a cheeky smirk, bringing news or trouble or a small token of her love before disappearing again. Varric knew she was coming, but that’s no surprise either. Hawke trusts Varric to bear secrets and danger for her that she would never dream of burdening Bethany with. It irritated Bethany once, but she understands now. They’re all each other has left. 

She stays at Skyhold for a bit while the Inquisitor tacks down her lead about the Grey Wardens and Bethany is glad for the time. They walk the battlements together and talk, or hang out in the tavern with Varric and some of the others. Sometimes it feels just like the early days in Kirkwall (minus the anxiety over their crippling debt and the persistent smell of urine).

“So,” Hawke says one afternoon in a tone that’s too forced to be casual, and Bethany grits her teeth in preparation for something unpleasant. “Varric mentioned that you and Leliana had...reconnected.”

Bethany levels her sister with a glare that could freeze fire and Hawke bumps her shoulder affectionately.

“I don’t mean to meddle, Beth, but I think I’m allowed a bit of sisterly curiosity.”

She realizes then how long it’s been since they’ve had an opportunity to do this. They would gossip and tease one another when they were younger, but it’s been a decade since Bethany has had anyone worth talking about. And even now, she’s not sure that there really is anything to talk about.

It’s been weeks since her last encounter with Leliana. Bethany’s barely seen the spymaster in that time. She’s been steering clear of the rookery, and Leliana was absent from Skyhold for at least a few days on some trip with the Inquisitor. She’s left to assume that Leliana has given up on whatever was between them. It hurts—Leliana was a good friend before she was anything else—but there’s little that Bethany can do but pray that the woman eventually finds the peace of mind that she’s so desperately searching for.

“Sorry to disappoint, Sister, but there’s really nothing to talk about,” Bethany says. “Whatever it was is over now, I think.”

“Hmm,” Hawke murmurs. “Do I need to have a word with Sister Nightingale?”

“Maker, please don’t,” Bethany says, and nearly withers at the thought of how embarrassing that would be for her. 

Hawke chuckles. “Well that’s a relief. She can be a little scary, you know? I’m pretty sure they’d never find my body. And then what would Isabela do? She loves my body.”

“Ugh, please shut up,” Bethany groans, shoving at Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke laughs and dances out of her reach before coming back to loop her arm through Bethany’s.

“Seriously, Beth, I just want you to be happy,” she says soberly. “You deserve that much, after everything.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid or dangerous for the next few years and I’ll be happy,” Bethany says with a fond smile.

“Well,” Hawke grins, “I regret to inform you that you’re likely in for a lifetime of misery, then.”

It’s so predictable that Bethany’s rolling her eyes before it’s even out of Hawke’s mouth, but she laughs despite herself and feels better than she has in a while.

xx

When the decision is made to march on Adamant Fortress, Bethany insists on going with. Hawke protests for a moment before falling silent at Bethany’s sharp look. The Inquisitor has no concerns with her presence, so the decision is made.

Bethany lingers in the Chantry the night before they’re set to leave Skyhold. She kneels before the statue of Andraste, but she doesn’t pray. There will be plenty of time for prayer while they travel to the Western Approach. Instead, Bethany simply sits in silence and waits.

She doesn’t know how, but she knows as surely as her heart beats that she won’t be alone for long. Within minutes, she feels someone kneel beside her, thighs brushing and making Bethany’s skin prickle at the contact. Leliana recites a verse from the Canticle of Apotheosis, a rallying cry for soldiers on the brink of battle. Her voice is low and gravelly; it settles in Bethany’s veins like sweet red wine.

“There are things I want to tell you,” Leliana says after a few moments of silence, “but now is not the time. I’m sorry for how our last conversation ended. I didn’t want you to leave without knowing that.”

Bethany turns her head and finds Leliana’s pale gaze settled on her, eyes glinting in the candlelight on the altar. There’s so much emotion in them, roiling just under the surface. And Leliana’s right—this isn’t the time, but Bethany desperately wishes that it was. She wants to forgive and move on, press forward until Leliana gives, until she yields and melts under her. For now, she pushes the purple hood off of Leliana’s head, fingertips tracing the braid that Leliana wears on the left side. It’s been growing these last months, almost to her shoulders now, and Bethany follows it down to the very tips.

“You’ll come back,” Leliana murmurs.

Bethany doesn’t know whether it’s meant to be a question or a statement, but she learned long ago not to make promises that she’s not sure she can keep. Instead, she says:

“Stay with me for a bit.”

Leliana smiles and laces their fingers together. They sit like that in the silence for a little while longer.

xx

What happens at Adamant is horrific. Bethany thought she’d seen the worst of what her kind was capable of in Kirkwall, but she was wrong. Watching the Grey Wardens sacrifice themselves and their dignity to demons for a handful of false promises is enough to make her sick.

Once the Inquisitor convinces Clarel that this has all been a ruse, they chase Erimond down, only to watch Corypheus’ horrid pet dragon take Clarel out. In a final act of desperation, she casts a spell that Bethany can feel in her bones, but there’s no time to escape it. The bridge crumbles beneath them, and as Bethany plummets, she closes her eyes and sends a silent apology to Leliana that she won’t be making it back after all.

When she opens them again, she’s in the Fade. Not the part of the Fade where people go when they die, though. She’s pretty sure her body wouldn’t _hurt_ this much if she were dead.

“This is not right,” Bethany whispers when she realizes where they are, and in what state.

“Ah, this again,” Hawke says wearily, rubbing at her left shoulder. “And here I thought entering the Fade was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of experience.”

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke...what kind of shit have you gotten me into now?” Varric grumbles.

“To be fair, I think it was my fault this time,” the Inquisitor says.

Their time in the Fade is not something that Bethany would repeat for anything in the world. The spirit of Divine Justinia reveals the truth behind the explosion at the Conclave and the Inquisitor’s anchor, while the Nightmare taunts them as they nearly exhaust themselves against demon after demon. The creature’s voice echoes in Bethany’s head, telling her that her parents were always ashamed of her for being a mage, that her mother wished she had died in the Blight instead of Carver, that eventually she would turn to corruption the way so many mages before her have done, and that Leliana will never love her.

Bethany grits her teeth against the onslaught. One look at Hawke’s pinched face tells her that her sister is experiencing the same psychological warfare. By the end, Bethany thinks there’s no way they’re going to make it out of this alive. Especially not when they come face to face with the Nightmare’s true form.

The Divine appears to offer them one last hope, zeroing in on Bethany just before she does.

“You love her,” she says with unshakable certainty, and there’s no need to specify who she’s talking about. “Give her a message for me. Tell her I failed her, too.”

The fight that comes afterward is so grueling that Bethany nearly blacks out. All she feels is fire and ice in her veins, never-ending streams of energy flowing through her staff and fingertips as she draws and draws on power from the Fade. And still the demon persists, until there is no fight left in them. Until they’re ready to give up. 

“That portal is open!” Stroud screams. “Take your people and leave. I will stay and fight this creature. I will redeem the Wardens for what they did to the Divine.”

Hawke opens her mouth to protest, moves to stand by his side and fight with him, and Bethany knows without even hearing it why she wants to stay; she knows that guilt that Hawke harbors over Corypheus. But Bethany will not have it—she’s not losing the last family she has left to martyrdom. She grabs her sister by the forearm and digs her nails in. Hawke turns to her with wild eyes and Bethany shakes her head vehemently. 

“Don’t you dare!” she cries, but Hawke stands torn.

“Listen to your damn sister!” Stroud spits, face red with fury. “Go, and make sure they have mercy on the other Wardens.”

With that, he turns to face the demon, battle cry tearing from his throat. Bethany pulls Hawke with all of her strength, and her sister finally relents. They fall through the portal together, tumbling back into the world once more. Cullen and his men drag them up and check them over, but Bethany evades them, pushing at her sister’s chest with barely-contained fury.

“What were you thinking?” she screams, then throws a hand over her own mouth as she sobs.

Cullen looks alarmed, like he’s afraid they may have another abomination on their hands at any moment, but Hawke just gathers Bethany into her arms, eyes swimming with so much regret.

“I’m sorry, Beth,” she murmurs into Bethany’s hair. Bethany can count the amount of times that Hawke has cried in front of her on one hand, but she’s crying now. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s no need to say every word clogging her throat. Hawke knows them all; she knows how selfish it would have been to needlessly sacrifice herself and leave Bethany to face the world all alone. She holds Bethany until she calms, and then kisses her on the head before going to help the Inquisitor deal with the remaining Wardens.

Bethany stands in the background, boneless and exhausted while a healer tends to her wounds. Varric squeezes her hand and offers her a sympathetic glance. Hawke is his as much as she is Bethany’s. He felt the terror, too. They stand by each other in silence and wait until it’s time to leave this wretched place.

xx

They march into the keep in a long, weary procession led by Cullen. The soldiers disperse to be tended, bathed, fed, and rested. Their assault on Adamant was technically a victory, but it’s tempered by the horrors that they encountered there. Bethany hangs toward the back of their lines, still exhausted from her trip to the Fade and the prospect of nearly losing her sister. Hawke left them on the second day of their trip to go to Weisshaupt and spread word of the Wardens joining the Inquisition. It’s what she needs in order to assuage her guilt over Stroud, but Bethany made her promise to write as soon as she arrives safely.

Bethany walks toward the area where her quarters are located and almost immediately feels herself being dragged into an alcove shrouded in shadow. Then there are cool, calloused hands on her cheeks, under her jaw, and carding through her hair.

“Bethany,” Leliana breathes, looking her over intently. “Are you alright, _ma chérie_? When Cullen sent word that you were in the Fade, I thought…”

_So did I_, Bethany thinks, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s still drained from everything that happened at Adamant. Right now, she doesn’t feel like talking. She leans forward and kisses Leliana, soft enough that she can pull away if she wants to. Leliana makes a muffled noise in the back of her throat and then tightens her hold on Bethany’s hair and pulls her closer.

“We still need to talk,” she mumbles against Bethany’s lips, pulling away for just a moment.

“Later,” Bethany rasps. “Just kiss me.”

Somehow, they make it to Bethany’s room without incident or interruption. The moment they’re alone, Leliana pins her against the wall. Her mouth is hot against every inch of skin it can find, hands pulling at Bethany’s chainmail armor until she’s free of it, until it’s only Leliana trapping the heat between their bodies in spite of the cool air of the castle. The frenzy makes Bethany dizzy, makes her burn. She didn’t expect to _want_ so much, and the weight of it is alarming.

Bethany guides them to the bed, urging Leliana to remove some of her clothing along the way. They tangle on the mattress, and Leliana surrounds her, engulfs her. She’s everywhere at once—hands roaming, nails grazing, fingers curling, lips at Bethany’s throat and then teeth at her ear in an instant, fragments of whispered Orlesian barely registering in her brain. Bethany doesn’t understand any of it, but it’s perfect. Leliana moves with her effortlessly, anchors Bethany while she arches and crumbles with a hoarse cry, and then starts again. After the third time, Bethany is weak and spent, gently nudging at Leliana’s chin to pull her mouth away from where she’s most sensitive. Leliana licks her lips and Bethany throws an arm over her face, sinking as far into her pillow as possible.

“This is much better than the conversation I had in mind,” Leliana says as she settles against Bethany’s side. She urges Bethany to curl into her, and Bethany obliges, head resting against Leliana’s chest.

“I’ll be continuing this as soon as I can move,” Bethany mumbes.

“We have time, I think,” Leliana chuckles. “For now, you need to rest.”

Rest is something that has not come easily in many months, but it feels effortless now with Leliana’s warmth and hazy satisfaction guiding her into a dreamless sleep.

xx

It’s dark by the time Bethany awakens. She’s rolled onto her stomach, sheets tangled around her waist. The bed beside her is empty, but there’s a scrap of parchment on the pillow with a note in Leliana’s scrawl. Bethany blinks the sleepy blur away from her eyes and tries to make out the words in the dark.

_Meeting with the Inquisitor. Get something to eat and find me in my perch when you’re ready._

Bethany smiles despite herself. Her stomach twists at the memory of their reunion. She desperately wants to return the favor(s), but being in the middle of a war doesn’t leave as much time for languishing in bed as one might hope. With a contented sigh, Bethany stretches out some of the stiffness in her body before rolling out of bed to get dressed.

After satiating her hunger with a small plate of food from the kitchen, Bethany makes her way up to the rookery. Leliana looks up at the sound of her footfalls, a small smile pulling at her mouth. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks, catching one of Bethany’s hands in her own.

“Never better,” Bethany replies. “Has the Inquisitor filled you in on what happened at Adamant.”

“Yes,” Leliana frowns. “Her report of your time in the Fade was...”

“Horrible,” Bethany supplies and Leliana nods. “It was nearly worse than anything Kirkwall had to offer.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, _ma chérie_. Is your sister alright?”

“She’s a wretch,” Bethany scowls. “Tried to sacrifice herself to that demon to save the rest of us. I had to drag her out of that place. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this angry at her.”

“I would have made the same sacrifice,” Leliana says. 

“Of course you would have,” Bethany grouses. “Everyone I care about has a hero complex.”

Leliana smirks at that and brushes Bethany’s hair back with her fingertips. “I shall try not to disappoint you,” she murmurs, and Bethany deflates immediately. “The Inquisitor said that you saw the Divine in the Fade.”

“Yes,” Bethany says, remembering the Divine’s parting request. “She asked me to give you a message. She said that she’s sorry she failed you.”

Leliana exhales heavily and shakes her head. She moves to stand by the balcony, looking out pensively at the horizon.

“Do you know what it means?” Bethany asks cautiously.

“A little while ago, I received a letter from her. It was designed to be sent to me in the event of her death. She asked me to go to the Chantry in Valence to find something that she had hidden there for me. I thought it would be some secret item that was meant to help the Inquisition. Instead, it was simply a message. She told me to lay down my burden. She released me.”

She turns back and walks over to Bethany to draw her close.

“I have done many things in her name, and I would do them all again if she asked me to,” Leliana says, brow furrowed. “But the things I’ve done have torn at my conscience and made me doubt myself. You were right when you said that I was afraid, Bethany. I was afraid that my past would not allow me to be worthy of love. I was so blinded by my fear that I did not see what was right in front of me—that you are strong enough to make your own decisions without being influenced by any darkness in me. The Inquisitor helped me to remember the better parts of myself, but even so, I should not have doubted you. Or us. It is all a choice, as you said before, and I choose you.”

This has been a long time coming. Leliana’s eyes are so earnest and open that for a moment, Bethany can almost see that Chantry sister that she knew ages ago in them. But she’s not looking for the ghosts of Leliana’s past. She’s looking for a future. And maybe it’s not the right time, but if she’s learned anything over the years, it’s that the right time doesn’t exist. Hawke is right—she deserves to be happy, and she will be, for as long as she’s allowed.

“It took you long enough,” Bethany says wryly, and Leliana laughs and kisses her deeply. “I suppose I’ll have to send the Inquisitor a fruit basket.”

“You can thank Josie, too. She was furious with me after I told her about our argument. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her face turn that color before.”

“They make a good pair,” Bethany grins.

“Hmm,” Leliana hums with a frown. “I’ve just realized that Josie is going to insist that we go on outings with them when this is all over. We’ll be paraded around Val Royeaux for weeks.”

“Sounds delightful,” Bethany chuckles. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to be shown off to a bunch of nosy high-society snobs.”

“As is your birthright, Lady Hawke,” Leliana teases.

Bethany shuts her up with another kiss.

xx

The Grand Cathedral is by far the biggest thing that Bethany has ever seen in her life. The compound stretches for miles, tons and tons of white stone and statuary as far as the eye can see. If she spent her whole life here, she still wouldn’t know every part of it. And somehow, it is still packed full with people. The faithful have gathered from all over the world to listen to the Divine’s newest proclamation.

Hawke, Josephine, and the Inquisitor stand beside Bethany near the front of the mall, looking up at the balcony where Divine Victoria stands. Her address is simple, but controversial. The crowd murmurs like a disturbed hive of bees as the Divine informs the people that the Chantry will be opening its doors to all of the Maker’s people, and that any member of the Chantry will be allowed to marry. Including the Divine herself.

“I am going to be drowning in correspondence for months after this,” Josephine grumbles, but she’s not unhappy. She’s been a great friend these past years, and she fully supports the Divine’s decisions. Bethany suspects that she’ll be hearing about a betrothal party for the Inquisitor and the Lady Montilyet very soon.

“Well, if they think this is scandalous, they’ll be absolutely floored when they find out that Her Perfection is sleeping with a mage,” Hawke quips. 

“Must you be such a tit?” Bethany snaps, smacking her sister on the arm. “There will probably be a dozen assassination attempts for this.”

“I’d bet a hundred sovereigns that no one even gets close,” Hawke says. “She’s the scariest Divine that’s ever lived. The Maker himself wouldn’t dare cross her.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” the Inquisitor agrees, and Josephine glares.

“Really, you two,” she scolds.

Before Hawke has a chance to say anything else that will surely have Bethany rolling her eyes, a runner approaches them and tells Bethany that Divine Victoria has requested her presence.

“Off to fulfill your holy duties then, Sister? Don’t have too much fun!” Hawke says with a wink. Bethany flips her off on instinct, and Josephine mutters an exasperated Antivan curse as she leaves. 

The runner leads her to a room that Bethany has visited many times before. Leliana waits inside, alone and divested of her holy vestments. She smiles at Bethany’s approach, fingers carding through Bethany’s curls when she’s close enough. Bethany feels herself relax, at ease in Leliana’s arms.

“How did I do?” she asks after a brief kiss.

“You certainly know how to get a crowd talking,” Bethany says.

“Good,” Leliana smirks. “They need to be talking. We must make the Chantry a place where everyone feels welcome.”

“I doubt that everyone agrees with you on that, but you have my support, at least,” Bethany replies.

“Then I ask for nothing more,” Leliana says happily, and pulls Bethany onto the bed.

They began in a tiny Chantry in the midst of a war, and now they are in the Grand Cathedral looking at the prospect of peace. It’s not what Bethany ever expected her life would look like—no mage girl sits around thinking that one day she’ll be the lover of the holiest woman in Thedas—but it feels right. Somehow, it fits her. She’s lost more than she ever thought she could bear, but she has also gained more than she anticipated. She’s happy, finally, and in the end, that’s all she’s ever truly wanted.


End file.
